The Inner War
by thedustbunny
Summary: Elliott was attacked, and now he has changed. Follow him as he copes with his new identity and tries to find his own place in the world.


CHAPTER ONE

**CHAPTER ONE**

It didn't start on a stormy night, but it certainly was dark. Elliott mumbled to himself about having to attend the town meeting. It's not like he was interested in it. His father was always complaining about how he never took interest in anything that went on in town. Well now, that certainly wasn't true. He was extremely interested in the Thompson girl. Her curly blonde hair and brown eyes certainly made one stand up and take notice.

Elliott looked around the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of her. There she was…with the iron smith's son. He frowned when he saw that. What did she think she was doing? Just the other day, it had been him whom she had been smiling at and laughing with.

His father pushed his shoulder to get his attention.

"What, father?" Elliott asked, annoyed.

"Don't give me that tone Elliott. You know better." His father said. "Now pay attention, the meeting's starting."

Elliott rolled his eyes, and looked back up front. Five older men in gray wigs were sitting on the platform, while a sixth man stood at the front, addressing the crowd.

"My friends hear me!" He shouted out. "The British have lost the war, but they continue to meddle in our affairs. Now something must be done about this. We must unite the colonies or else another war might break out."

A lout cry erupted from the people gathered. Elliott sighed, already bored. Who cared about this nonsense? It had been eleven years since the Independence War was fought. If the British were going to do something major, they would've done it by now.

Elliott had more important things to think about. Like why Emily Thompson was still sitting with that bloke and having whispered conversations together. Just the other day, Elliott had talked to Emily, and professed his attraction for her; even adorning her hair with a bright flower. It was a chance to let his fingers drift through her hair, and gently down her cheek. She had smiled up at him, hugging him tightly. Before she had a chance to respond, though, her father was calling her back in to help her mother with dinner.

Elliott narrowed his eyes at the two. _"Well, good riddance to them."_ He thought. _"There are other girls out there."_

Before he had a chance to look around for another girl, loud shouts came up from a part of the crowd. It appeared they were fighting, but he couldn't make out what it was about. The shouting soon became physical, and punches were thrown. Elliott stood up to see better, even as his father raced away to help.

Soon, it seemed the whole town was involved, and somehow, one argument had spread to many. People were shoving at each other and swearing. Elliott pulled his mother back from the frenzy, not wanting her to get hurt.

He started forward, until his mother cried out. "Elliott no, you'll only get hurt!" She yelled.

Elliott sighed. He was a man now wasn't he? He needed to help. "I'll be fine mother." He reassured her. "Don't worry."

With that, he turned around and made his way to the edge of the crowd, looking for his father. He might as well stay close to him, so mother wouldn't worry so much. Elliott pushed his way toward the center of the crowd, glancing around for his father, while also keeping people from pushing him down.

A man to his left yelled loudly, and Elliott jumped in place, looking at him. He was dressed in tattered clothes, dirty from not being washed. His graying hair was matted and a few twigs and leaves were stuck in it. He stood there, swaying and mumbling to himself, wringing his hands.

"Are you all right sir?" Elliott asked him, stooping a little to see his face clearer. He gave a shout of fright and stepped back. That couldn't have been right. He rubbed his eyes and looked again at the old man. His eyes were red. Not a dark colour, but red. The man took a step in Elliott's direction, who took a step back. He was still mumbling to himself and swaying, his head swinging left and right.

Elliott tried again. "Sir, are you all right?"

This time, the man heard him. His head shot up, and he stared at Elliott with wide eyes, his face coated with sweat. He took small shuffling steps toward him, holding his hands out until he grasped Elliott's outer coat. "So hungry. I need…I need…" He broke off, staring at Elliott's neck, his black eyes roaming up to his face.

Elliott stared back in horror, not knowing what the old man wanted. He tried to get the man's hands off of him, but discovered that his grip was fierce; his knuckles were turning white with the effort.

"Get off me. Sir, let go!" He yelled. He wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. This strange man was frightening him. He looked around for help; but everyone was still fighting. Looking back at the man, he saw a bit of drool hanging from his lip unnoticed. His red eyes were shining at him. "Hungry. I need…I need…" The man moaned and then with sudden ferocity, pushed Elliott to the ground, scrambling on top of him.

Elliott cried out, hitting his head on the ground. "Help me!" He yelled. Trying to sit up and scoot backwards, he found his efforts worthless. The old man was stronger than he looked. He pushed Elliott back down. His eyes were no longer glazed over. They penetrated into Elliott's, causing him to pause at the change in them.

Suddenly, the old man snarled, and lunged at Elliott's neck, baring his teeth. Elliott threw his hands up in time to keep the man from taking a chunk out of his neck. Unfortunately, this didn't deter the man. Red eyes glaring, he clamped down on Elliott's left forearm, biting him.

Elliott let out a scream of pain, shutting his eyes against it. Pain shot up his arm, causing him to grunt. He rolled onto his side, trying to throw the man off him. Finally, help. Two men came running up and threw the man off Elliott, helping him up. He grabbed his bleeding forearm and stared at the man. He hadn't gotten up yet; he seemed to be lapping the blood off of the ground.

"What happened?" Said a voice to Elliott's right. Looking over, he saw the man his Emily had been chatting with earlier. He took a step back, swaying a bit.

"I don't know." He said, his voice light. "I asked if he needed help, and he attacked me." He looked back down at him. "Who is he?"

The other man glanced at him also. "I'm not sure. He only arrived in town two nights ago."

The two men reached down simultaneously, and grabbed the old man, who protested, trying to get the last of the blood off the ground. They got tighter grips on his arm, not letting him move much. The old man sniffed, and his eyes met Elliott's, and froze. Then his eyes roamed down to his bloody arm, and lunged at him again.

Luckily, he was held back by the strong arms of the two men. Elliott stared in horror at him, holding his arm tighter against his chest.

"Maybe you better go get that looked at Elliott." Said the smith's son, glancing uneasily between the two. "We'll take this one to the jail and see he's locked up."

Elliott nodded, grateful that someone was doing the thinking for him. His mind was numb; he seemed to be experiencing everything through another's eyes. He turned around and stumbled to the edge of the crowd before his legs gave out and he fell down. He was gasping now, trying to regain control of himself, while also trying to figure out what had just happened.

Someone knelt by his side and gently helped him to stand up. "Are you all right Elliott?" Emily asked.

He nodded slowly, looking at her. "Why are you helping me?" He asked her, momentarily forgetting his pain. "Why aren't you over with the smith's son?"

She furrowed her brow in concern. "Elliot," She hesitated, looking down. "My father promised me to him. We're to be wed next summer." Tears came to her eyes. Blinking them back, she said, "Here, let me help you to the hospital. I'm sure they'll stay busy tonight."

Elliott glanced back toward the crowd. The majority of them were still fighting, although some were now trying to stop the others.

He nodded wearily, only wanting to get to a soft bed and go to sleep. The two made their way to the town hospital, going inside. There were many injured men in there, mostly scratches and bruises. One man had a bloody nose and a black eye. Elliott walked toward what seemed to be the end of a line, holding his arm. Emily stayed beside him, holding him steady.

At long last, a doctor came over and led them to a room. Sitting on a chair, Elliott held his left arm out, and the doctor rolled up his sleeve. Emily let out a gasp at the sight, and her hands covered her mouth. Elliott looked down and grimaced. His left forearm had a big rip in it from the old man's bite. The area surrounding it was starting to bruise and was covered with blood, which had slowed to oozing out of the wound.

Elliott looked away and took a deep breath. "I don't feel so well." He said. His eyes started drooping, making him sway forward. He jerked back and snapped his eyes open. "What's going on?" He said, asking no one in particular. He let out a yell and clutched his arm. "What's happening to me?" He started to tear at his arm. "Make it stop!"

The doctor stepped back, alarmed. He ushered Emily to the door. "Go get help. Get his parents in here, now." Emily nodded, in tears now, taking one last look at him before she rushed out.

Elliott fell out of the chair, still yelling out. The doctor rushed forward to help him into the single bed, trying to restrain him and keep him from hurting himself. Elliott was yelling uncontrollably and trying to reach his hurt arm.

Elliott's father rushed in just then. "What happened? Is he going to be okay?" He asked the doctor.

He shrugged. "I need to calm him down before I know what's going on. He's got a bite on his arm, and it doesn't look good. He keeps tearing at it, like he's trying to get rid of it. I've never experienced anything like it. When people get cuts or bites from animals it hurts of course, but this is the first time I've seen somebody trying to physically get rid of it or yelling like this." He shook his head.

His father asked, "What can we do?"

The doctor looked over at him. "We wait. Hope he makes it through this." He moved away and got out some rags. "Here, help me restrain him. We don't want him hurting himself more than he already has."

Together, the two men restrained Elliott and watched as he thrashed back and forth on the bed. His father sat on an extra chair, watching his son anxiously.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Elliott's mother flew through the door. "What's going on; where is he? Emily told me Elliott is in here, hurt." It was then that she spotted him. Running over to him, she knelt on the floor beside the bed and held one of his bound hands, as if she were trying to give strength to her son.

She looked back over her shoulder at the doctor with tears in her eyes. "What can be done?" She said, trying not to break down.

The doctor sighed and shook his head. "Like I was telling your husband here, nothing can be done, except to wait it out. We've restricted his movement so he won't hurt himself. He was nearly tearing his arm off earlier, trying to rid himself of his wound."

His mother looked down at his left forearm, where the wound was located. Turning his arm over to better see it, she gasped. Where the wound was, was a bright red and puffy, the look of infection. The surrounding area was extremely pale, and as she watched it seemed to be spreading.

"Why is it doing that?" She asked, pointing to the paleness, which was now past his elbow and traveling up his arm.

The doctor came over and frowned. Reaching down, he prodded it with his finger. "I don't know. It wasn't doing this earlier."

Elliott started shivering as if he was cold. The paleness had spread throughout his whole body. He was gasping as if he couldn't draw a breath. Inhaling a deep breath, he sat up and opened his eyes wide, showing that they were completely black. With a slack jaw, he let out his breath and fell back down, eyes still open.

The doctor and his dad rushed forward and quickly untied him. The doctor checked his eyes and put a finger to his throat. Finally, he put his ear to Elliott's mouth, checking for the air going in and out.

He came back up, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I don't hear anything. I think he's gone."

At that, Elliott's mother let out a shriek and started crying. His father went over to her, and put his arms around her, his face filled with shock.

That night was a night of sadness. The smith was busy that night, building a simple wooden coffin. News had spread fast about Elliott's death; with everyone in shock. Emily was inconsolable, crying her broken heart out. Elliott's friends were all gathered together, having a drink in his name. Elliott's parents were taking it hard too. His mother rushed around, gathering up his things, giving her mind something to do. His father would just sit and stare, not shedding any tears, as if he hadn't quite realized what was happening.

The next day was the funeral. Elliott was placed in his wooden coffin and then upon a platform. A priest stepped forward and proceeded with the funeral. Afterwards, he stepped back and the coffin was placed in the ground. Elliott's father stepped forward and tossed a handful of dirt in the grave, shortly after, everybody had lined up to toss a handful of dirt.

Elliott's mother dropped to her knees beside the freshly turned pile of dirt. Wiping tears off her face, she placed a bouquet of flowers on the grave. Getting up, she walked back to her husband, and together, they went back to their house.

After that, everyone else dispersed, and the gravediggers went to work filling the grave the rest of the way.

It got dark fast that night. Elliott lay in his coffin, stiff. His eyes started moving underneath his eyelids. He took a deep breath, and then started coughing harshly. He started to sit up, only to stop short, rapping his head on the lid.

"Ahh!" He yelled, clutching his head. "What's going on?" He finally opened his eyes, but saw nothing. Blinking a few times, he felt around and realized he was in a rectangular box.

"What the hell; where am I?" Elliott wondered. He pushed lightly on the lid and it moved slightly. Grunting a little, he pushed harder until it opened, and dirt poured in, covering him.

Elliott climbed out, and sat on the edge of his grave, his legs dangling in. He looked around. "Oh my." He exclaimed. He was in a cemetery. Looking to his right, he froze. It was his grave marker.

Here lies Elliott Hayes

Faithful Son

1767 – 1787

He Will Be Greatly Missed

Elliott swung his legs out of his grave, _"My grave,"_ He thought, and leaned in closer, brushing a hand against it.

Leaning back, Elliott tried to think back on what had happened. Nothing came. Panicking, he thought harder. Slowly, it came back to him. The town meeting, the crazy old man, his arm, the hospital. Elliott looked down at his left arm, and stared at it. A gash about three inches long and a half inch wide marred his skin. It shone palely in the moonlight, as if it were an old scar that was years old.

"What's happened to me?" Elliott whispered, looking around again, as if it were all new. His eyesight was sharper than before; he could see to the end of the cemetery, and even beyond. He could hear the soft wind rushing past him, and in the distance, some of the town's dogs were barking. But it was his smell that had seemed to change the most.

Elliott could smell many different things now. The fresh mound of dirt that used to make up his grave, the smell of decomposing bodies, and even the whole town. Different foods, areas, and even different people.

Elliott scrunched his eyes up at that. _"You can't identify people by smell."_ He thought. Standing up, he faced the town; even though he couldn't see it, his heightened sense of smell told him where it was. Lifting his head slightly, he sniffed the wind.

He could smell his mother. She smelled like food, because she was always cooking. Yet she was slightly stale from not taking any baths recently. His father smelled like pipe smoke, and the horses he worked with.

Elliott shook his head, unable to believe what was happening. _"I need to get back home."_ He thought. With that, he took off running and found himself standing by the front window to his house. _"What?" _He thought, looking around. A ten minute walk had taken about two seconds when he ran.

Trying not to think about his new abilities, Elliott looked in the window at his parents. They were sitting at the table, picking at their food.

"Delia, you have to eat." His father said. "You haven't eaten since…well, since it happened."

Elliott leaned in closer, hoping for an explanation of what had happened to him.

"I know I should Charles, but ever since…ever since Elliott died, I've not wanted to do anything!" She started crying as she said this.

Elliott reeled back, taking in what he had heard. How was he here now, standing? He took a deep breath, felt the air whooshing in and out of his lungs. _"Dead people don't breath." _ Elliott thought to himself.

He obviously couldn't go to his parents about this. They had been traumatized enough. Plus, how to even explain it all? Elliott himself didn't even know what was happening. He remembered his grandfather's stories of when he was a boy; the witch hunts that had almost destroyed the town. Elliott didn't want to be mistaken as a witch.

"_But then…what am I?" _He thought. He backed away from the window, silently saying goodbye to the only home he'd known.

Elliott wandered the streets, sticking to the shadows, so as not to be seen. How could he find someone who knew what was going on?

He was now at the town square, where it had all started. Elliott walked up to the platform, and climbed the steps. The wind was blowing harder up here, bringing with it new smells. He turned in a circle, taking it all in.

Elliott's eyes stopped roaming and focused on a building. The jailhouse! Now he remembered that was where the old man who had bitten him was taken.

He jumped off the platform and strode over to it. Once again, he reached it extremely fast. He peered in through the door and saw a guard in the room. He followed the outer wall, until he reached another window. Looking in, he saw a single candle glowing on a desk.

The old man was sitting at the desk, staring at the flickering flame. Elliott narrowed his eyes at him. Here, finally, he would get some answers.


End file.
